


The reason Captain Kirk owes Nurse Chapel a big bouquet of flowers.

by Adara_Rose



Series: Reasons [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alien Influence, Anal Sex, Bottom Kirk, Bottoming from the Top, Doggy Style, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Bondage, M/M, Mating, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Sex Pollen, T'hy'la
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 09:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6513064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adara_Rose/pseuds/Adara_Rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>....or, more accurately, "alien sex pollen made them do it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The reason Captain Kirk owes Nurse Chapel a big bouquet of flowers.

**Author's Note:**

> this is also, more interestingly, the reason AdaraRose is no longer permitted to chat with Remlundskan while watching Star Trek.

Trust nurse Chapel to beam on board an unknown alien flower because it’s “pretty”. And trust said unknown alien piece of flora to exude some sort of pollen that more or less covers everyone on the bridge. And finally, trust dumb luck to have the majority of the crew already down on said planet for a bit of shore leave, except for the superior officers that have not beamed down yet. 

Seriously, Kirk thinks deliriously as Spock bites his shoulder, they should take shore leave on unknown planets more often.

* * *

 

The look in Sulu’s eyes is something new, something raw that Chekov has never seen before, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s a bit unable to move at the present he would be making a run for it. As it is, the lieutenant’s sturdy frame has him nicely pinned to the floor.

“Would you mind letting me go?” He pants when Sulu finally stops kissing him for long enough for him to do anything but whimper. 

“I’d mind very much” The asian purrs as he licks Chekov’s ear lobe, grinding their hips together. Chekov can feel the man’s rather prominent erection pressing against his thigh, and another sliver of panic makes him try once more to get away.

“Stop squirming” Sulu growls, sounding a bit like an angry klingon. “Or I’ll have to chain you up.” Chekov freezes.

“Oh, you like that do you” the lieutenant growls triumphantly, and where the hell did the handcuffs come from?

“We can’t-” Chekov whimpers but makes no attempt to stop Sulu from ripping his trousers off, “Not on the bridge!” He gasps as Sulu attacks his mouth again. Really, it can’t be called kissing when it’s more like devouring his mouth, can it?

“No one else here” Sulu points out as he bites Chekov’s lower lip. Then he does some sort of twisting motion and Chekov’s hands are over his head, cuffed to Uhura’s desk.

“Where-” he manages to get out between kisses.

“Spock dragged the captain into the conference room. Scotty muttered something about stretchers, so Bones is getting the ride of his life. And why the hell are we talking about them?”

“We can talk about something else?” Chekov tries as Sulu flips him over on his stomach and pulls his pants down. The air on the bridge is slightly chilly against his bare skin, making it prickle. 

“Why talk? I’d rather fuck this perfect piece of ass until you beg me to stop.”

Chekov opens his mouth to protest but it comes out as a desperate moan as his hard cock presses against the chilly floor at the same time as Sulu buries his face between his legs, licking his ass with an obscene noise. 

“Wha-” he manages to choke out, but that’s about it as the older man starts working his tongue in and out of him like a fucking hummingbird in one of those old earth documentaries. Chekov wails, there is nothing else he can do restrained like this. His hips buck uncontrollably back against the no-longer-unwanted intruder.

“Please” he shrieks, “Sulu! For fucks sake!”

“That’s better” Sulu purrs as he bites down on the spot where Chekov’s left leg meets his buttocks. 

“Gonna have you screaming for me soon enough.”

 

* * *

 

Speaking of screaming, that is a rather accurate way to describe the noises pouring out of Captain Kirk’s mouth as he rakes his nails down his first officer’s back.

“Oh, God! Spock! Harder! Yes!” 

He’s perched on the edge of the conference table, his shirt is ripped, his trousers on the floor, fuck knows where his boots went. It doesn't matter; Spock is fucking into him hard, hips pistoning in a rhythm that has Jim seeing stars, and not because the vantage window is left in gazing mode. Every snap of the half-vulcan’s hips makes Jim’s entire body quake, and thank fuck Spock’s doing the work because his body is like a molten pool of pleasure, helpless to do anything but accept what he’s getting. 

“Jim” the other man growls into his ear, “Jim. Mine. Jim.”

“Yes” Jim screams, back arching. “Yours! Always!” He’s rewarded with a ravenous mouth attaching itself to his nipple and sucking on it like a starving babe. The sensation shoots straight down to his throbbing cock, making it drool precum all over the remains of his shirt. His cries increase in volume.

“God! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” He’s vaguely aware that this is probably the least suitable place to finally get some hot vulcan action, but he’s going to fucking _kill_  Spock if he stops now.

“I’m not going to stop” Spock groans between kiss-swollen lips as he bends his knees just slightly, changing his angle so that he hits Jim’s prostate head-on. Vulcan mind reading, right. 

Jim screams so damn loud and for so damn long his throat hurts as his orgasm hits, burying his nails in the softly green-coloured skin under his hands, clawing at heaving muscles as he falls into nirvana.    
Spock watches his captain in awe, not stopping his furious thrusting for one moment even as Jim howls his name and comes apart in front of him, on him, around him. 

He’s not done with him yet, he thinks with an almost savage smirk as he pulls him down onto the floor, not stopping for one second. Jim keens as his legs instinctively comes up to clasp around Spock’s waist, even as his mind is drowning in pleasure.

It’s time the captain learnt how the vulcans do it. 

 

* * *

 

“I fucking _hate_ you” McCoy groans even as he presses two fingers up inside his hot, aching hole.

“Ye, ah 'now laddie. Now op'n up f'me like a good boy.” Scotty goads as he strokes his rather impressive erection. McCoy glares, but the look is rather ineffective as his fingers work furiously inside him, opening him up for that fucking monster waiting to plow him like a fertile field. It’s thick and veined, the mushroom head gleaming with precum and McCoy’s saliva. The latter probably due to the fact that he was on his knees before the sickbay door had closed behind Scotty, He’s never been an overly skilled or enthusiastic cock sucker, but he’d been gagging on it before he’d known what was happening. Fuck him, but for some reason he wants that monster cock in him in every way possible and then some that probably aren’t. He pulls his fingers out with a frustrated growl and climbs on top of the other man, too damn impatient to wait any longer.

The penetration hurts, like he knew it would with inadequate preparation, but he doesn’t care.

“Slow down, laddie…” Scott moans, his hands coming to rest on McCoy’s hips.

“Shut the hell up” he snarls as he undulates his hips, making the penetration easier. Fuck, it hurts. Hurts sooo good. The pain-pleasure is making his mind go hazy, his body taking over, taking control. And his body wants fucked, thank you very much.

Finally Scott is all in, and it’s like a fucking jeffries tube up there. He’s never been this full before, not even while using his biggest toy. 

“Damn, lad” the engineer groans, his big hands clenching on McCoy’s hips. He needs to thrust, needs to fuck into the hot, willing hole taking his cock like a pro. “feel so good.” The look in the doctor’s eyes is savage, like a barely restrained beast. His mouth is opened in a snarl. 

He’s possibly the most beautiful creature Scotty has seen in his life. That he’s riding his cock like it’s a bloody rodeo has nothing to do with it.

Probably.

 

* * *

 

Chekov leans his head against Uhura’s desk and whimpers breathlessly as Sulu presses up behind him, his cock resting hot and hard between his thighs.

“Sulu” he pants as he presses his hips back, wanting him inside, wanting him now. That they’re on the bridge is no longer important, the scorching heat inside has erased all sense and right now, right here, he just wants Sulu to mount and breed him like a bitch.

Which he’s apparently said out loud, because Sulu makes a noise somewhere between a snarl and a growl and pushes his cock inside Chekov’s ass. The muscles immediately tighten up on instinct, and Sulu strokes Chekov’s heaving back with a surprising gentleness.

“Open up for me” he croons and Chekov finds his body obeying, muscles loosening even as his vision whites out and he loses awareness of anything but the man behind him. He spreads his legs as far as his uniform trousers will allow, moaning with pleasure as he is rewarded with deeper penetration.

His mouth is hanging open, a steady stream of moans and whimpers and choked russian spilling out unendingly as his hands scrabble for something to hold on to. The metal of the cuffs rubbing against his wrists only heighten the pleasure, which honestly comes as a bit of a surprise since he’s never been into bondage before. 

Sulu keeps pressing in slowly, until he is balls deep, then he pauses. The younger officer is trembling and whimpering under him, his body shuddering. He’s still impossibly tight.

“Please!” It’s almost a sob, and Sulu smiles wildly. Fuck yes, this is perfect. He pulls back a little, then slams home hard. He is rewarded by a shattered scream of something that he doesn’t understand, but Chekov has been babbling in russian for at least fifteen minutes so it doesn’t matter.

_“DA!”_ The other man cries, and he knows that one. It means “yes”. Sulu strokes the hot, feverish skin of his partner then starts fucking him with sharp, brutal jabs that makes Chekov squeal that word every time he hits his prostate.

It’s like a fucking symphony.

 

* * *

 

Jim parts his legs and raises his hips in invitation, ignoring the mix of slick lube and semen dripping from his ass. He’s soaked with sweat and bodily fluids, exhausted but on fire. Gluttoned and ravenous. 

“More” he demands, reaching for Spock. The other man comes to him willingly, hungry kisses making them both light-headed even as Spock’s cock finds its way inside of him again, pushing into his sensitive passage and finding that he fits even more perfectly now, now that Jim is loose and slick for him. 

Spock fits between his legs in a way that makes his thigh muscles burn in the most delicious of ways, making his toes bend like they’re seriously considering curling. He’s never had an orgasm like that before, but the look in his first officer’s eyes tells him that he’ll be getting damn close today, here, on the floor with his clothes strewn all over the place. 

He winds his arms around Spock, one hand coming to rest on that glorious ass even as it flexes with the strain of pushing into him. The other buries itself in the man’s usually pristine hair, now wild and mussled from Jim’s clenching fingers at the height of his earlier passion.

Spock gasps with pleasure, rewarding him with a thrust that is just that little bit harder, just enough to make him cry out. 

“Spock” he cries, arching up against the slim fingers stroking his touch-starved skin. Their eyes meet. Lock. The smouldering heat between them becomes an inferno as Spock starts fucking him fast and hard, Jim’s heels digging into his back as he clings to his… lover?

The orgasm that takes him by complete surprise is intense enough to make his toes curl.

 

* * *

 

McCoy presses his hands down on Scotty’s slightly rounded stomach to hold him in place, fingers digging into the flesh as he writhes on his cock. He’s riding fast now, almost bouncing on that glorious cock forcing him open. 

“Bloody 'ell laddie” the Scot pants as he struggles to keep still, letting McCoy set the pace for this, even though he’s clearly dying to properly fuck the doctor. His eyes are wide and so dark they remind McCoy of space, eternal and endless and with tiny pricks of light scattered in the darkness. Eyes you can drown in, even as your prostate is continuously stimulated and your cock is drooling precum with every shift of your hips. Scotty’s hands grip his hips hard enough to leave bruises, and it’s surprisingly pleasing to realize. He wants that. Wants the marks. Wants-

“Bite me” he demands, leaning forward. The shift in angle also makes the cock fucking into him change angle, only a little but enough to make a hoarse cry of pleasure rip from his throat. The stimulation of his prostate is enough to make his rhythm falter, and when Scott pulls him down to bite into the soft flesh on his neck he is completely thrown of rhythm.

Scotty takes the opportunity, the bastard, to roll them over so that the doctor is flat on his back. Scotty grips his legs hard and throws them over his shoulders, pressing down on McCoy so that his knees are nearly up by his ears. It should be uncomfortable, but it isn’t.

“So perfect under me, laddie” the man breathes, sounding almost awed. It makes McCoy feel… he’s not sure. Horny as fuck. Wild. Uncomfortable. Insatiable. 

“Fuck me” he demands, not wanting to think. “Just fuck me.”

Scotty growls. Bites his neck again.

“Whatever ye want, me bonny lad” he smirks. McCoy opens his mouth to protest at the pet name, but all the comes out is a loud cry of pleasure as Scotty takes advantage of the change in positions to set about fucking him through the floor.

His fingers claw uselessly at the cool metal beneath them as he hurtles towards ecstasy. He is dimly aware of his own screams of pleasure, his breathless cries and pleas, but that’s a later problem. Not to mention that he’ll kill Scotty if he tells anyone that McCoy squealed like a bitch on his cock.

“So perfect, me bonny lad” Scotty groans against his lips.

Well, maybe he won’t kill him.

 

\--------

 

Jim is nearly delirious at this point, writhing in Spock’s lap like a wild thing as they cling to each other. Their bodies are slick with sweat and other fluids, their limbs aching, but still… Spock leans against the wall, His legs splayed wide as he pulls Jim impossibly closer, pressing hungry kisses to the human’s sweaty, bruise-covered neck.

“Jim” he groans as he shifts his hips in a motion that is more grinding than thrusting. The pleasure is enough to make a sob slip from Jim’s lips as he clings helplessly to the other man.

“Yes” he chokes out, staring blankly at the ceiling as his body shudders.

“Look at me” Spock demands hoarsely. “Look at me.” And he obeys, immediately, on instinct. Their eyes meet. Lock. Spock’s eyes are unguarded, smoldering, full of things that Jim hardly dares to name.

“Jim” he whispers against Jim’s throat, pressing kisses against his throbbing pulse. 

“Yes” Jim gasps, pressing closer. They’re climbing towards the peak of ecstasy now but it’s not as furious as before, clutching and writhing together as they soar higher and higher. Spock’s eyes are bright and dark at the same time, as if he is close to crying. 

He kisses Jim again, but it’s different this time. It awakens something inside Jim. Not lust, not wild passion. Something else.

“T’hy’la.”  Spock whispers, almost sounding reverent. It’s a question and a statement and suddenly there is so much in that word, so much more than it’s been. There is only one reply. Everything he is is crying it as Spock’s hand leaves his shuddering back and presses against his face, initiating the mind-meld.

“Yes.”

 

* * *

 

Chekov is noisy during sex, but when he is close to the edge he goes quiet save for breathless gasps and whimpers. Somehow it’s even hotter than the squeals, signaling that Sulu has finally succeeded in fucking the gorgeous Russian into a stupor. He’s so close now, his rhythm not as punishing, his hips starting to stutter even as his grip on his partner tightens.

“Fuck” he groans. “So damn good.” 

A breathless gasp is his only reply, and then he feels the already tight hole clenching like a vice around his cock become even tighter as Chekov comes apart under him. It’s probably the most intense sensation he’s felt in his life and Sulu lets go, ramming home one last time with a vicious snarl and erupting, as far inside as he can get.

Chekov makes an odd little noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, as his legs give out under him and they topple to the floor. Their bodies are still quaking, shuddering, pressing together as if made to fit.

“Think I’ll keep you” Sulu murmurs into soft skin as he undoes the handcuffs. Chekov turns slowly, searching his face for honesty. When he sees nothing but affection, he smiles hesitantly.

“Really?” He asks. Sulu kisses his delicious mouth again.

It’s the only affirmation Chekov needs.

 

* * *

 

Scott’s face is twisted, dark red with exertion as he lunges into the man writhing under him, pumping into him like it’s a race and he’s intending to be the winner. McCoy groans, low and hoarse, as he feels himself nearing the brink.

“Fuck” he pants, “Scott- shit, I’m gonna-” Scott laughs, a wild noise.

“Cum for me, me bonny lad. Let me see you.” Now, McCoy usually hates being told to do anything by anyone other than Jim, but he can’t help but obey this time. Scott is playing his body like an instrument, making every nerve ending sing. He wraps his fingers around his cock and pulls once, twice, and he is gone. His entire body is shaking, seizing, locking up as he cums, a distant roaring in his ears leaving him unaware of anything but the constant stimulation of his poor, abused prostate.

The feeling is only intensified by the hot cum suddenly filling him to the brink as Scotty shudders above him, mouth falling open in a loud cry of his name. 

“Leonard!” He hasn’t be called that in a long time. It feels… right.

His legs flop uselessly down onto the floor, refusing to obey any commands. He grunts in protest as Scott collapses on top of him.

“Get off me” he orders, but Scott just laughs and kisses him. 

“Shush, me bonny lad.” He murmurs softly.

“‘M not your-” he tries to protest but is silenced by more kisses.

“But ye are. Me bonny lad. An’ I’ll be keepin’ ye.”

 

* * *

 

Jim leans back amongst a pile of downy pillows and tries not to wince at the soreness in his lower back. It is to be expected, really, after the conference room… and the hallway… and the showers… oh, and the bed. Multiple times. If he as much as hints at discomfort, Spock will to freak. Badly. As it is, the half-vulcan is sprawled on top of him, drawing lazy circles with his pointer finger over Jim’s trembling stomach.

“You are frowning” a displeased voice cuts into his thoughts. Jim blinks at his lover, who is sitting up slightly with a distinct twitch in his left eyebrow. On anyone else, there would probably be tears.

“I’m sorry” he apologizes quickly, “just thinking about Scotty telling me that my doctor is on sick leave. He does not have authority to decide that.” 

Spock leaned in and kissed him, stealing his breath and his thoughts at the same time.

“You will find that he has every authority, t’hy’la.”

Jim has no idea what Spock means by that, but there are more interesting things to be doing than trying to find out.

 

Damn it, he thinks as he pulls his bondmate closer to feast on his mouth, he owes Nurse Chapel the biggest bouquet of fucking flowers he can get his hands on.


End file.
